


This Means War

by NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fun, Pranks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable/pseuds/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David pranks Killian, and it spirals out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Means War

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday present for the lovely (and hilariously awesome) xhookswenchx. Let's just say, your pranks have inspired me, lol. Happy birthday, dear!

It all started with a whoopee cushion.

Killian had just pulled back the kitchen chair with his hook, his bowl of cereal balanced precariously in his hand along with a mostly-full cup of orange juice, when he sat on what he thought was a soft, pink pillow.

It wasn’t.

“What the bloody hell!?” he cried at the noise as he nearly _flew_ out of his seat, knocking over both his bowl and the juice, milky cereal and orange liquid dripping to the floor.

One look at David confirmed his suspicions.  Emma’s father had his head resting on his arms on the table, his shoulders shaking violently, muted laughs escaping despite his obvious efforts.  He lifted his head, his face red, streaks of tears across his cheeks, as he struggled for breath.

“I couldn’t resist!” David managed to wheeze between laughs.  “Henry had it in his room and he said I could borrow it.  I didn’t know it would actually work!”

Killian fumed at him, milk and juice splashed across his pants, seeping into the jean fabric and chilling his skin.

“You do realise,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “that I’ve killed men for lesser offenses.”

“I’m sorry,” squeezed out the other man, not looking very sorry at all.  “I just had to do it.”  Killian could see him trying, at least, to hold back the flood of laughs that were so obviously pushing to escape, but in the end, David lost it, exploding once more into giggles as he choked, “It was so worth it!”

“This means war,” was Killian’s only reply as he stalked back to the kitchen to get some towels.

* * *

 

He got his revenge three nights later, when David and Snow came over for dinner.

The night had gone smoothly, the family chatting easily together, laughing, passing the baby around, and just enjoying each others’ company.  Killian had managed to sneak away for a few moments, completely unnoticed.

That was all he needed.

He walked the Charmings to the door, waving as they stepped down onto the path and made their way to David’s truck.  With a grin, and a brief flash of excitement, he came back in and closed the door to wait.

It didn’t take long.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” he heard from outside, and his smile only grew.  Emma looked over at him, confusion evident on her face, but all he managed was a shrug as he waited for the inevitable return of her father.

That also didn’t take long.

David pounded on the door, and Emma gave him a long look before she opened it.  “Killian, what-” she started, turning the knob, but she fell silent in shock as soon as the door opened a bit wider.

David stood on their front porch, his face and neck _coated_ in bright purple paint.  It dripped from his nose, his ears, his chin, even his hair had flecks of purple in it.

It would have looked hilarious, if not for the scowl he wore as well.

“What did you do to my truck, pirate?” he ground out, spitting droplets of paint as he spoke.

“Turnabout is fair play, mate,” Killian only shrugged with a grin.

David pointed a finger at him, glaring as hard as he could with fluorescent purple on his face.  “Don’t make me regret not leaving you dead in the Underworld.  You will pay for this.”

Killian stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ve bested many a man scarier than you, Dave.  I’m ready for battle.  Are you?”

David tried to take a step forward, but Emma’s hand on his chest prevented him from dripping the paint inside their home.  “You better believe it,” he spat.  Without another word, he turned and stalked down the steps and back to the truck.  To his amusement, Killian could see Snow was having just as hard a time keeping a straight face as Emma was.

She closed the door and looked at him.  “What did you do, Killian?”

He shrugged again.  “I saw that MacGyver bloke rig a crude paint bomb once, it wasn’t so difficult to do the same to David’s ignition.”

Emma fought hard to keep the smile off her face, but he could see it threatening at the corners of her mouth.  “He’s just going to get you back, you know.  And he might be a hero, but he takes his pranks _very_ seriously.”

“Oh, I know.  I’m prepared for anything he throws at me.”

She finally gave into the grin that soon lit up her entire face.  “That was pretty awesome, though, I have to admit.  I just hope you know what you’re getting into.”

He stepped closer, slipping his arms around her in a light embrace.  “I think your father is going to be the one who needs that warning.  I’ve been pulling pranks since before his _grandfather_ was born.  This is going to be fun.”

“I hope you’re right,” she hummed.  “Just don’t get hurt, okay?”

“As you wish.”

* * *

 

They hit each other hard after that, a series of pranks intended to claim victory but just launching themselves into another round of their now famous feud.  Grumpy had even set up a betting pool out of Granny’s, the numbers scrawled across the menu in bright chalk, as the town watched and waited for what would happen next.

The pranks weren’t malicious, intended more to annoy the other into giving up.  (“He doesn’t realise that I have _centuries_ of ‘not giving up’ under my belt,” Killian said to Emma as they sat together on their porch one night.  “He’s going to have to try harder than that to win.”  She didn’t reply.)

David got Killian next, a bucket of icy water balanced precariously on the lintel of the door which tipped when he walked into his office in the station, showering him in freezing water.  Killian gasped, spluttering at the shock and wetness of it, but his mind was already racing to think of his next attack.

He didn’t have to think too hard, the idea already right in front of his face.  Killian managed to switch out David’s gun as he was heading out to the shooting range, replacing it with a (quite realistic) water pistol instead.  He could feel the other man’s stomping footsteps as he returned from the range, his face red with anger as he demanded his rightful sidearm back.

Two days after that, Killian woke to find all his shirts - usually lined up neatly hanging in the closet - replaced with baby onesies and pajamas.  How David had managed to sneak in and out of the house without either of them noticing, he had no idea.  He shoved on a dark blue t-shirt under his waistcoat as he gathered some equipment for his revenge.

When David came back to the station from lunch the next day, he unlocked the safe to retrieve his gun and found it wiggling in a solid mass of blue jello, and a winking pirate leaning lazily against the doorway watching him.

“Dammit, Killian!  Stop messing with my gun!  It’s not funny!” he shouted, holding the jiggling blue lump on the plate, his gun bobbing slowly inside.

“It’s hilarious, mate.”

“You know what?  I’m done playing games,” David threatened, his face darkening a few shades as he placed the jello on the desk.  “This time, pirate, it’s for real.”

Killian only smirked.  “I told you before, Dave.  This is a game you cannot win.  I’ve had years of experience.”

He wasn’t prepared for the sinister smile that slipped across the other man’s face.

“Well, old timer.  I guess it’s time to show you a few new tricks.”

* * *

 

Three days later, David still hadn’t done anything.

Killian hated waiting.  Part of him figured David was deliberately delaying his retaliation, knowing how much he couldn’t stand the wait.   _Or maybe he just couldn’t come up with anything_ , he figured with a grin to himself.

He wasn’t sitting idly by, though.  He’d already planned his next attack, he just had a few last minute adjustments to make, which he could do after his date with Emma that night.

If he could just find his bloody hand attachment.

He looked everywhere in the house, everywhere he would have put it, but nothing, no sign of it.  Emma didn’t care what he wore on their nights out together, but he preferred to be a gentleman while wearing his good clothes (which he’d managed to retrieve from Snow after the baby clothes swap), and the hook just didn’t quite fit.

“Emma!” he called again, rifling through the dresser for the third time.  “Are you sure you haven’t seen it?”

“Not since the last time we went out,” came her reply from the vicinity of the closet.  “Maybe it’s in the nightstand?”

“Why would it be…” he trailed off, deciding to humour her and check.  He pulled open the top drawer, and nearly fell back onto the bed.

His prosthetic lay atop the book he’d finished last week.  Only, instead of his familiar leather glove covering the carved wooden hand, it was coated in bright rainbow stripes.

Painted on.

“Dammit, David!” he cursed, slamming the drawer shut.

“What is it?  Did you find it?” Emma asked, stepping into the room while fastening her earrings.

He narrowed his eyes.  “Did you help him?  Is that how you knew it was there?”

“No, Killian, I didn’t-” she started, her hands raised in surrender.  “What did he do?”

Slowly, he reopened the drawer and pulled out his multicoloured wooden hand to show her.

To her credit, she didn’t burst out laughing, but only just barely.

“Oh, Killian, I’m…”  Her hand flew up to cover her grin, but he could still see the mirth in her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” she said from behind her fingers, “but I did warn you he won’t play fair.”

“He _cannot_ toy another man’s prosthetic like this, Emma!”  He jumped up, rushing around the room to grab at the supplies that were only mostly ready.  “I need to move my plan forward, it has to happen _now_.”

“Killian, what about our date?” she asked softly, and it was enough to freeze him in his tracks as he turned to her.  “This was supposed to be _our_ night, Killian,” she continued.  “Just the two of us, not some stupid prank war with my father.”

He sighed, willing his riled temper to calm, feeling the tension melt away slowly the longer he stared at her.  She looked radiant, her simple pale blue dress falling to just above her knees, her golden locks pulled back loosely, curling wisps trailing down the sides of her face.

She also looked _sad_.

He’d been completely ignoring her, he realised with a start.  With all the pranks and plotting in his war with David over the last two weeks, he’d neglected to spend any time with the most important person in his life.  And even now, right before they were meant to spend a night out together, he was so preoccupied with _winning_ that he almost abandoned her.   _I’m an idiot_ , he thought, mentally kicking himself.

He took a deep breath and stepped closer to her, reaching out for her hand with his.

“You’re right, love,” he said sincerely.  “I apologise, tonight is our night, just the two of us.”

She nodded slowly.  “Thank you.”

“And I’ll let it go, if it makes you happy.  Let him win.”

“You’d do that?” Emma asked hesitantly.  “Really?  I mean, I know how much you value your revenge and all.”

“Really,” he nodded, and smiled down at her before leaning closer and kissing her nose.  “But if he ever starts up with me again, I have your word that I can go at him with everything, right?”

She only grinned.  “I’ll even help you next time.  But for now, I declare you the true winner of the prank war, for being the bigger man and ending it.”

He raised an eyebrow with a smirk.  “Oh, _I’ll_ show you a bigger ma-”  

She nudged him in the ribs with a laugh, cutting him off.  “Not now, pirate,” she grinned.  “Grab your hook and let’s go.  We’re going to be late.”

He bent down for a kiss, his hand gently stroking her hair.

“As you wish.”


End file.
